The Count (Twisted Classics Book 3)

by Monica Corwin

  The one who loved me like a father. The one who kept me alive. The one who gave me the means, and the keys, for my revenge.

  “Everyone called him The Mad Priest.”

  “And was he?”

  “What?”

  “Mad?”

  I considered. “Everyone in prison is a little bit. But, yes, I’d say he was crazier than most. Especially since he was an innocent man.”

  She popped her head on her hand and watched me. “How did you know? Didn’t everyone say they were innocent?”

  “No, your crimes were like your scout badges for the lifers. You needed to have something to fit in.”

  “If he was innocent, what was he in prison for?”

  I’d asked the man a similar question so many years ago. “He said for the things men in power throw at those weaker than them. He’d been put in for corruption, embezzlement, and third-degree murder.”

  “Wow. So he was there awhile?’

  I nodded. The memories clogging my throat.

  “How did you two become friends?”

  It occurred to me to be suspicious of why she pelted these questions at me. I paused in raising my glass to my lips. “Do I get to grill you when you’ve finished with me?”

  A dark cloud passed over her face, but she shook it off. “If you like.”

  Good money said I’d be way gentler with her than she was with me right now.

  “We connected over books in the library.”

  She sat back into her chair and looked me over. “You don’t look like a guy who reads.”

  “What else is there to do in prison?”

  That earned me a laugh. “I don’t know, dig a tunnel. Shawshank that B.”

  I snorted the wine out my nose. It burned. After I mopped myself up, she chuckled. “I don’t think that would work.”

  Instead of lingering at the table, I snagged the wine and wandered into the living room. “Come sit with me.”

  She followed and sat close enough to touch.

  “Your turn now,” I told her. “Tell me something about your life, outside of what I probably already know.”

  That took some of the pressure off. Since my investigators were very thorough.

  “How am I supposed to know what you know? Let me see the file and I can fill in the missing bits.”

  “Nice try.”

  She took the wine from my hand and sipped straight from the bottle. “I had a friend who went to prison once.”

  I stiffened and then forced myself to settle down. As far as I knew, I’d been the only friend she had before everything happened.

  She shifted and I watched her install some distance now. If she needed a shield to talk about it, I’d allow it.

  Once she sat comfortable enough in her dress, she stared off across the room. “His name was Eddy and he was the only man I ever loved.”

  Hearing my real name from her lips set off warning bells in my head. She didn’t know, she couldn’t know. The logic didn’t stop my organs from gearing up for a marathon. Or the fine sweat which broke out on my temples.

  She was oblivious though. “We were friend as kids, and then we fell in love as teenagers. We were together for years. I thought I’d marry him.”

  “What happened?” I asked, part question part throat clear.

  She tucked her chin and dropped her gaze to her hands. She’d pressed them flat, one against her heart, and one against her belly. Holding herself together, even after all these years. After a while she said, “he died.”

  I jerked my face toward her now, studying her, trying to spot the lie. Nothing I could read. Only a woman in pain. A woman who’d dealt with the worst things in life and came out the other side somewhat functional.

  “How did it happen?” I forced myself to keep my voice even. I had no emotional investment in a teenage crush. Calm the fuck down.

  She took a long drag from the wine bottle. “He went in for drugs. But then there was a fight, someone got hurt, his sentence got extended, and then Fernand told me another fight ended his life.”

  The room went silent, and I closed my eyes. All these years. She’d never visited, never wrote. Nothing. I assumed it was because she’d been in on the plan to send me away, and didn’t want any contact. Now, hearing it from her own lips. My insides felt eviscerated, shredded.

  I should say something. Sympathize, or change the subject. Anything, so she didn’t look at my face and spot the anguish written there. I looked over at her, but she’d been sucked down in her own world. She’d pushed herself to the farthest edge of the couch, and hugged the wind bottle against her, another barrier between us.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I managed, after far longer than I should have.

  She shook herself and did one of those female swipes under the eyes. Checking for makeup or wiping away a tear? “Well, it’s a sad story. Anyway. Not many know that about me, so there. And well, you can’t use it against me…” Her smile slipped.

  I snagged the bottle from her and took a long draw. Not the proper way to drink a good red, but I couldn’t complain given her confession.

  So she hadn’t betrayed me. A heavy weight slid off whatever remained of my heart. A lightness suffused me and I couldn’t breathe properly. She hadn’t betrayed me. Which meant…this whole thing, her punishment, my revenge, wasn’t something she deserved.

  Shit. It was the last vestige I clung to in regard to forcing her to stay here with me. We’d made a deal, and I could fall back on that. But everything else, the spying, the calculating, she’d earned none of it. Another innocent victim caught in the crosshairs of my life.

  “Wow, I know how to put a damper on the room.” She shifted closer now, a soft smile on her face. Not a trace of the sadness wafting from her earlier.

  “Thank you for telling me about your friend.”

  She grabbed the wine but didn’t drink. “You told me about yours. Seemed only fair to share about mine.”

  I turned her face so I could look at her. Damn she was beautiful. I let myself soak in the sight of candlelight washing her skin to glowing. “Thank you for cooking for me. And dressing up for me. I don’t deserve it.”

  She pressed her palms flat on my chest. “I think you are softer on the inside than people think.”

  I gave her a mock affronted expression. “Me, never. But if I hear rumors I know who to hunt down to put a stop to them.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Do you want it to be a threat? Does the idea of chasing you, catching you—” I dropped my pitch low and softly scraped my lips against hers. Not yet a kiss. Just the tease of one. “make you wet?”

  A new heat entered her eyes and I watched them as I deepened the kiss letting my tongue take away the remnants of the rich wine. She kept her eyes open locked on mine until I nibbled on her bottom lip and she sank into me. Every part of her relaxed into my arms, her eyes shut, and she spread her fingers over my shoulders and into my hair.

  When I came up for air, she felt languid in my arms, her upper body almost on top of me, her hips canted against my own.

  She chuckled. “Do you thank your chef like that every day too?”

  This woman. I couldn’t help but laugh. She traced the dimples in my cheek and scanned over my lips and teeth, which are rarely on display. I’d never had much in my life to laugh about.

  “I like it when you smile like that. You’re gorgeous.”

  With those parting words, she peeled herself out of my arms, stole my wine bottle, went to her room, and closed the door behind her.

  FOURTEEN

  MERCY

  The next day he had business to manage. And to be honest I was relieved to gain some distance. Mostly from the fucking dopey way my heart pounded whenever I caught sight of him.

  When I came out of my room in the early evening I found a bag and a dress hanging off the door jam. I sat down the coffee mug I’d been hoping to fill, and unzipped the garment bag. Royal purple silk spilled into my hands. The man learne
d quickly. This dress was even more gorgeous than the last two.

  Inside the bottom of the bag I found matching shoes. The other bag hanging in front was smaller, and from a very expensive French lingerie store. I’d never allowed myself to shop there since I knew it would devastate my bank accounts.

  I pulled it down and peeked inside. Silk in a pale pink edged with lace. I dragged it out of the bag and held it in front of me.

  A masculine throat clear caused me to jerk it down and hide it behind my back.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, already partially in his tux. Black tonight. Black on black on black. He looked like death. And I had to admit, it did good things for him.

  “I’ll get ready.” I clutched everything in my arms and fled into my bedroom. Why was my face burning right now? He’s seen me naked. Him watching me admire a piece of lingerie was not even a blip on the scandalous radar. And yet, something felt loosened between last night and this morning.

  Being near him felt easier. As if the guilt I’d been carrying for the last twenty years eased a fraction. I’d never be truly rid of it, not after what I did to Eddy. Something I’d left out of my little fairy tale when I told it. But I could breathe a little better, fuller, and with each inhale I felt him surrounding me.

  I dressed quickly. He should have given me more warning. Maybe he had his own reasons for staying away. I wasn’t the only one who shared personal tid-bits last night.

  I opted to leave my hair straight down my back and pin back the front so I could finish getting ready quicker. It was in record time I joined him in the sitting room “So what is the plan tonight?”

  He turned to face me and the purse of his lips told me I wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

  “Just tell me.”

  He swept me closer, and trailed his hands up and down the open back of the dress. “Good news and bad news. The good news, one man will be going away tonight, for good. The bad news, it’s your cousin Fernand.”

  He didn’t appear to be particularly broken up about it. Neither was I, if I thought about it. After hearing that girl tell me what he did to her. What he’d been doing to other women like her, I wanted to claw his eyes out myself.

  “I don’t consider that to be bad news.”

  He released me and fixed his cufflinks. “He runs a charity to care for abused women and children. Tonight, we are going to bring our special friends and expose him for the fraud he is.”

  She blinked a few times and dropped her gaze. Then nodded. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  We said “disguise” at the same time. And then laughed together.

  He cut his smile off when we stepped into the elevator and I mourned the loss of it. Something felt familiar and loving about it. Not that I’d seen it enough times to quantify it.

  He held out his arm, led me to the car, and deposited me in safely. We rode in silence and I didn’t want to interrupt him. He seemed to be readying himself mentally for something. Which scared me in a way. What did a man like him need to prepare for? Fernand had always been a sniveling coward. Too chicken shit to come out, too stupid to take a real position in the family business. It was all too easy to push him out when I took over. As long as he had his diversions, he never bothered me. Now that I knew what that meant, I felt sick from the guilt of it.

  The party poured out of the hotel when our car pulled up. Camera’s flashed, reporters called out to us, but we ignored everything until we were inside. Of the events he’d taken me to, his included, this was the most lavish. Apparently selling women had become big business for him. I forced myself not to curl my lip as I took it all in. This fuckwad was going down if I had to drag him to the police myself. And if that didn’t work, Taylor would get a call later tonight. Hell, maybe both.

  We joined the crowd and I put a glass of champagne in his hand with a meaningful look. “How long?”

  He leaned in and brushed some hair away wearing a fake smile. “Not long. I don’t intend to stay in this cesspit any longer than necessary. Right now, it’s the show, later it’s the fun.”

  We sat at an empty table and surveyed the land. This felt better now that I’d been let in on the details. Or at least I thought I was on the inside.

  I watched him too. He sat very stiff and still, a soft smile on his lips like he enjoyed the view of the dancers. It was an empty look, a mask, and I hated it now that I could easily recognize it.

  Much the same way as the last party, it started with some older ladies whispering. They told their friends and soon they were buzzing. He pointed me toward a scene in the corner. An older man I didn’t recognize talked to one of them a little loudly. His words were quickly carried around the room and I knew he’d been hired by Will to spread the facts about the girls in our midst.

  When they started to leave, the charity board gathered in another corner. The man motioned somewhere and quickly the girls rounded up and left, along with a few men who’d tailed them in. Most likely more of St. James’s men.

  “This was fun. Like a spy operation.”

  He didn’t smile though. His face was series as he watched Fernand slip quietly out a side exit. I headed toward the door but he pulled me back. “No. If he gets out of here it doesn’t matter. The police will get him soon enough. He won’t leave town without going home first. He has a lot of baggage to clean up before he can flee properly.”

  We got into our own car and headed back to the apartment. I smoothed the silk on my legs. Would he let me take this one with me when I left?

  The idea of me going home hit me. I’d forgotten. Between the kisses and the confessions, I’d forgotten how all of this started.

  I faced the window so he wouldn’t spot the emotions flickering across my face while I wandered. What was wrong with me, I didn’t want to leave him? I enjoyed kissing him, and fighting him, and fucking him. I wanted more of it. But, once his plan finished, he wouldn’t need me anymore.

  None of it made sense to me right now. If I tried to leave now would he stop me? Even if I didn’t want to go, a sense deep inside raged against the confines. Was it about the illusion of freedom, or the escape itself?

  We pulled up at the apartment and I stayed quiet, still thinking, as we went upstairs.

  He didn’t argue when I went straight into my room and closed the door. Space would help me think more clearly.

  After a while though, the space started to close in on me, and I went in search of him. To talk things out? To decide what all this meant for me when he finished his work? I didn’t know.

  I’d already stripped out of the dress. But I couldn’t bring myself to remove the slip. Without knocking, I ducked into his bedroom. Empty. The office gave me nothing as well.

  We hadn’t been back long. Where could he have gone? And why the fuck did this pressure in my gut tell me I missed him?

  FIFTEEN

  EDDY

  As I sat in the car riding to Fernand’s safe house, it hit me she’d never asked me why we were doing these things. Why did I have my sights set on these men? It was a train to follow later. Not one I could board now and see all the way to the end of the line.

  My driver cut through the traffic easily. I wanted to get in and out and back to Mercy. She’d likely be pissed off if she saw I’d left her there alone. There were things Fernand and I needed to discuss, which she didn’t need to hear.

  After he parked, I sent him off with the promise to text when I needed to go home. I didn’t know how difficult he would make things for me if he stayed.

  I should have been nervous. In a moment, I’d slip the persona I’d taken up after I got out of prison and show him the true face of his attacker. In doing so, I’d finally confront the man responsible for twenty years of utter torture. The man who ripped away the dreams Mercy and I shared. He had so much to account for.

  I walked in easily. He didn’t lock the door behind him. Safe house 101. I closed the door softly at my back and clicked both the door knob lock and the deadbol
t into place. Privacy was an important commodity.

  I surveyed the landscape. Everything appeared normal until my gaze snagged over a young man splayed across a velvet couch. Safe houses came with fuck boys now?

  The small man caught sight of me and froze. “Are you playing tonight too?” He asked.

  I wanted to say the look in his eye was fear, but I couldn’t entirely be sure. “No. And you better leave. It’s safer that way.”

  He didn’t ask questions. The man gathered his clothes and headed for the back. Another door, I noted as it slammed and echoed.

  Cursing came from a small corridor to my right. I waited. Fernand came out screaming for, I assumed, the man who just walked out. After a moment, he realized the other man left and someone else had replaced him.

  “Mr. Lord. I wasn’t expecting you. And might I inquire how you got this address?”

  I took off my coat and lay it across the couch. Then I loosened my bowtie, ripped it out of the collar, and then put my jacket on top of the pile. “We need to have chat, Fernand.”

  He didn’t step forward. I took a seat on the couch and gestured at the other one across from me. “You can sit down of your own volition or I can drag you over and restrain you. Your choice.”

  Smart man took the seat. He crossed his legs and started to launch in about his charity work.

  I held up my hand. “No. Let’s save us both some time. There are a few facts to get straight and I need your help.”

  “Of course, Mr. Lord. For one of our best donors, anything.” He spoke as if he weren’t wearing plastic shorts, a lace robe, and a gun holster against his rib cage. The consummate business man.

  “First. My name isn’t Wilmore Lord. My name is Edmond Dantes.”

  The act slid off his features like rain on a windshield. “Wh—.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get to that.”

  He didn’t let me keep speaking. Instead, he crossed the room and sat next to me on the couch. As a cautious man, I tended to keep distance between me and anyone who wanted to crush my skull with their bare hands. To each their own, I guess.